Hassan Hakmoun performed last week at that great space, Le Poisson Rouge in the Village. The occasion was the Global Music Double Fundraiser which raised funds for the victims of the Haiti earthquake. Also performing that night were Falu, Basya Schechter (Pharaoh’s Daughter), Luqmon Brown (Funkface), Malika Zarra, Haale, Bill Bragin (DJ Set) and Amon Drum (DJ Set).

It was a great night of music. And if the guy with the mesh back shirt is included, a great night of dancing too.

The High Line is a 1.45 mile elevated greenway, reclaimed from the old elevated freight rail line on the west side, from Chelsea to the Meat Packing District.

It is a great idea and a unique space and I look forward to hanging out on it during autumn and winter. I just wished that the concrete walkway and wild grasses levitated above the street for a few miles more.

Yes, it is August in the city. It is time for a million shiny faces on the streets, the Rorschach sweat blots on the backs of those in front of me, the surreality of the hair dryer heat in the Delancey Street station, the strong, sinus clearing smell of stairwell urine. And the noisy glory of sweaty, stinky, surly Chinatown in summer.

Yes, it is August in the city. I clean my desk regularly because my forearms stick to its surface when I type. My pint glasses sweat like afternoon joggers.

At a performance at Summer Stage in the park, the bugs enjoyed our sticky necks and we joined in whack-a-moling the whole night.

At the East River Park’s bandshell, a mid-afternoon dance performance was cut short because the vinyl surface of the stage had melted enough that the performers could not turn en pointe.

The thunderstorms bring a great and awesome distraction with their primal clash and fray and their looming, suspenseful dark build-up. But whatever relief they deliver is small and fleeting.

I have a cluster of trees in the school across my street with just enough cicadas to make a chorus.

Look at your watch. It does not matter what it says, as every moment in August is a good time for a shower.

They have been issuing lengthy heat advisories: drink plenty of fluids, stay out of the sun, wear loose clothing, check on your neighbors. They should just say: Fuck, it is August in the city.

I know now that Best Buy has the greatest air conditioning, based solely on the arctic blasts jetting from its doorways and spilling onto the concrete like wasted champagne.

I was killing time a few weeks ago in the West Village, waiting to meet a friend for a late brunch at Philip Marie. I stood up from my park bench and my shiny, unblemished chrome Leica M6 .TTL 0.58 and the similarly pristine chrome 35 summicron lens attached to the body, fell out of my Domke bag and tumbled towards the pavement. Thinking quickly, I stuck my foot out to cushion the fall of my precious, shiny Leica.

I flicked my foot out so quickly that I managed to catch the M6 on my shoe, only to kick it an additional three feet or so in the air. The sound of a Leica, with all of its heavy soft brass, hitting concrete is one of the most expensive sounds I have ever heard.

When I picked up the dinged and now thickly focusing lens, I noticed that a frame had been exposed. The photo my left foot took is below: